


Objects in Motion

by joss80



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e22 No Good Deed, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:50:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joss80/pseuds/joss80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 1 is rater Teen, Chapter 2 is rated Explicit. Part 1 can be a stand-alone fic, but the episode warranted a second part.<br/>Episode 1.22, part 1 was inspired by the scene where Reese and Finch eavesdrop on the NSA guys while huddled up together in the back of a van, part two follows Reese's discovery of Grace and his conversation with Finch about her. And Finch wears cologne :)<br/>Originally posted on LJ May 26, 2012</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Finch shut the van’s sliding door behind him and scooted into his seat beside Reese.

“Peck’s an intelligence analyst,” Reese informed him with a smile. “And from the sound if it a damn good one.”

“That’s why they’re in a telecom building – they can jack into the feeds. It’s a NSA listening station,” Finch mused, leaning forward with his chin on his hand.

“Then I guess we’d better listen,” Reese smirked at the monitor. He focused on the video feed and could hear Finch shifting next to him, trying to get comfortable on the utilitarian chairs that the back of the van was equipped with. It was no easy task, given the physical limitations of their space, and the counter surface – already crowded with equipment - was only so big.

After a minute or two, Reese found himself becoming a bit distracted. The conversations they were eavesdropping on were intriguing and the information sporadically relevant to prior ops that he had some knowledge of, but still he struggled to keep his concentration focused on the screen... so he did a bit of a self-analysis. He wasn’t feeling particularly warm, so that wasn’t it. No need for a restroom break just yet. He’d had a decent night’s sleep last night, although with his training lack of sleep had never presented much of a problem.

He felt Finch shift again next to him, their legs brushing together in the cramped quarters. Reese knew Finch wasn’t one for any kind of unnecessary physical contact, and found himself enjoying their closeness as he listened in through his distracted haze. And then he smelled it, a subtle waft of cologne teasing his nostrils.

 _That_ perked him up.

Reese found himself not only distracted far away from the happenings on the screen, but super-focused on the scent of the man next to him. Finch was wearing _cologne_? Nothing extraordinary or particularly unexpected, John supposed, but he hadn’t ever noticed it before and given Finch’s state of relative under-dress – his usual suit and tie making way for a workman’s jumpsuit and white undershirt today – Finch apparently hadn’t skipped out on the smaller details.

And he smelled g _ood._

John closed his eyes and let out an almost inaudible sigh. What the heck? Now was a most inopportune moment to get caught up in something like this. This was something very new to him, and here he was in a cramped van on a Manhattan street, hunched over a monitor, with Finch, and Finch’s cologne, and he didn’t know quite what to do or not do about it. He wouldn’t deny an attraction of sorts to Finch, but when it had crossed his mind before he’d swiftly put the thought into a mental box and stuffed it into a dark recess of his brain, not wanting to address whether it was an admiration-type attraction or something more....

“Is everything alright, Mr Reese?” Finch startled him out of his reverie.

John’s eyes snapped back open and he turned his head toward Finch, then froze when he realized their faces were only inches apart. His instinct was to put more room between them, that this personal space invasion would be too much for Finch. But Finch wasn’t backing down, he merely gazed back expectantly at John with a slight questioning look. John could feel Finch’s breath brush lightly against his neck as they continued to look at each other, and he realized he was feeling... flustered. He looked back at the monitor for a second, trying to regroup, and let his hands drop to his knees – only, their knees were still practically touching and Finch had apparently had the same idea some seconds earlier. John’s right hand settled partly on his own knee and partly on the edge Finch’s hand.

Both men looked down at their hands, then slowly up again at each other. Neither dared to move. John saw Finch’s face flush slightly and guessed that his was doing the same thing because now he _definitely_ felt warm.

And, how _awkward_.

“Sorry, Finch,” John broke the silence in his quiet drawl as he started to pull his hand away, but Finch suddenly grasped it back with his own hand.

“It’s okay, Mr Reese,” Finch replied in a softer-than-usual tone, having some trouble keeping eye contact, “I don’t bite.” He squeezed John’s hand, then slowly let it go and turned his attention back to the monitor.

John was still a bit stuck on _hands_ and Finch _not biting_ and didn’t quite know how to take things, so he turned his head back and did the same. Only, it wasn’t the same. He could almost _feel_ a crackle of something running between them, some sort of imaginary current that had materialized and was wreaking havoc with his coffee pot surveillance. He wondered if it was playing havoc with Finch too. He glanced sideways at Finch, and caught Finch watching him out of the corner of his eye. Finch quickly averted his gaze but it was too late. And their blasted legs were still touching.

Things were _definitely_ awkward.

“Is that thing recording?” John finally asked, still looking at Finch and gesturing towards the bank of electronics on the counter, “Because I have no idea what’s going on there or here,” he said, indicating the small space between them.

“Why don’t you tell me, Mr Reese?” Finch asked, his words barely more than a whisper. “Not to sound like a petulant child, but… you started this.”

John wondered what on earth was going on in his partner’s brain. John was trying not to read too much into the situation and he wondered if Finch was having the same struggle. John didn’t even know what he was feeling, and heck if he knew how Finch was feeling, but he’d never seen Finch like this before. This was different. Something had changed between them because of an unintentional touch.

“I didn’t mean to but… then you did and…” John struggled to articulate his thoughts while looking down at his lap, “I really _don’t_ know what the hell that means, Finch.”

He looked up to meet the eyes of a very unguarded Harold Finch. Something in the back of his brain was chanting, “Kiss him! Kiss him!” John didn’t really know what to make of that or if it was actually what he wanted to do, but suddenly it didn’t matter because Finch had leaned in and pressed his lips solidly to John’s. He felt a jolt of shock run down his spine and warmth radiating out through his body. Finch’s lips were warm but tense, and John closed his eyes instinctively then fought to open them again as Finch pulled away after only a second. Finch wasn’t meeting his gaze. John struggled for control against the feelings coursing through him – he wasn’t usually affected by this sort of thing, his former training having drilled home the how-to’s of emotional detachment during ops, yet still he found his heart pounding in his chest and the voice in his head had changed to an incohesive babble.

“Harold…?” John began, looking at the suddenly shy man before him. Finch was still looking down and had started fiddling with the arm cuff of his jumpsuit. He looked lost and adorable, and so vulnerable, and John could still smell that cologne.

“I’m sorry, John, I shouldn’t have…” Finch managed to get out in a whisper, and then trailed off. In that moment, John knew exactly what he wanted.

“Now who’s not finishing what they started?” He asked teasingly, before bringing his hands up to the sides of Finch’s face and pressing his lips lightly to those of his partner.

Finch froze, eyes wide, and John pulled away slightly, but the need for contact was too strong and John brought his lips to Finch’s again, pausing mere millimetres away. He knew Finch had to meet him halfway on this or he wouldn’t – couldn’t - carry on. Finch’s eyes were a little bit wild, emotions seemingly warring with each other, and John felt like he was drowning in them.

Suddenly, Finch bridged the gap between them. His lips crashed into John’s, seeking contact like a survivor clinging to a life raft. Warm and tense turned into hot and soft and so many good things as John opened his mouth slightly and their tongues sought each other out. His hands were on Finch’s face, his shoulders, into his hair and then down towards the closure on Finch’s jumpsuit. Finch’s hands had gravitated to John’s chest and he slipped them under the suit jacket, revelling in the feeling of taught muscles beneath the thin dress shirt.

John’s kisses became more insistent as he drew Finch towards him, feeling a need he hadn’t acknowledged for a long time. Finch met him evenly, then let out a slight gasp as John moved his mouth to his cheek, his neck, and landed on his collarbone as he tugged at the front of Finch’s clothes.

“Damn!” Finch sighed, bringing his hands up to grasp John’s shoulders and push him away slightly. John looked at him quizzically, fearing something was wrong.

“John… wow…” he began, then, “but isn’t the back of a van a little too cliché?” He quirked a half-smile at Reese.

“You think we should take this somewhere more private, Finch?” John asked, feeling more confidence and raising his eyebrows suggestively. He guessed they couldn’t really – shouldn’t really – get too distracted on the job. Henry’s life was on the line here, and they owed him their full devotion.

“I think we should probably wrap this number up first,” Finch said with regret, “before we explore anything further.” He looked apologetically at John, still so close that it was all John could do to not start kissing him again. But John knew he was right.

“It’s all good, Finch,” he replied, “but I suggest one of us get out of here or we’re not going to get anything done.”

Finch smiled a full smile, something John didn’t see very often. “I’ll be back to take over in a few hours. Try to focus, John.” He turned away and moved to open the van’s sliding door.

“What – no kiss goodbye?” John’s teasing voice followed him as he clambered out and onto the sidewalk.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode 1.22, part one was inspired by the scene where Reese and Finch eavesdrop on the NSA guys while huddled up together in the back of a van, part two follows after Reese's discovery of Grace and his conversation with Finch about her.

“I was lucky. I had four years of… happiness.” Finch paused briefly, considering. Then, “Some people only have four days.”

Reese watched as Finch walked away from him. He felt like such a fool, a very confused and overwhelmed fool. Sympathizing with Finch had seemed like the right thing to do, given the situation and how much he seemed to still carry a torch for Grace, but Finch had rebuffed his “I’m sorry” and Reese didn’t know what to make of things. He had so many unanswered questions, and didn’t know how likely it was that any of them would even be answered.

Things had seemed so promising over the past few days – the thrill of kissing Finch, their observation of Peck in Central Park where Finch hadn’t shied away from physical closeness, and hearing Finch talk to Peck about the mystery of the human heart over his earpiece. He had been so hopeful of more time with Finch now that the case had wrapped up, but things seemed irreparably torn.

Finch had a fiancée, albeit an ex one, who he still kept watch over daily two years later. Finch knew now that John had been following him, and John knew one of his secrets. And John had no idea what that secret named Grace meant or where or how that left room for him. Was Finch really so at peace with his “four year of happiness”? He needed to find out, one way or the other.

He ran to catch up with Finch, who had reached the edge of the plaza and had turned off onto a more secluded side path. As he reached the other man, he grabbed him gently by the arm and spun him around so they were facing. And they were very close. Reese didn’t care who might be walking by, and he didn’t care if Finch cared. This was too important.

“Harold, I didn’t mean…” he trailed off, not knowing quite what to say. Then, “I didn’t know how you felt about it. I mean, I still don’t really know what to make of it all. I had no idea….”

“You trail me every day, John, and then you’re disappointed when you find something you didn’t expect to? I gather you didn’t take that possibility into account while following me?” John had expected Finch to be mad, but instead his voice was flat and hollow. And what was worse, Finch wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“The past doesn’t matter, Harold, it’s the present that I’m worried about. I’m sorry I found out about her this way, I would have much rather have heard it from you if you ever felt comfortable enough to share it with me. But now I know. And now I don’t know what it means, for you two, for us…?”

John let the word linger there between them. He had been thinking about “us” for several days, letting his mind wander to future possibilities and what getting to know Finch better might look like. Having that tentative hope hanging in the balance, he knew it would be something very hard to give up, but the outcome was in Finch’s hands.

Finch finally looked up and met his eyes. John couldn’t read them, but then Finch said, “Walk with me, John,” and his hand, which was still holding onto Finch’s arm, latched on a bit tighter as he and Finch began walking further along the path. They walked in silence, and soon came to the edge of the park. John spotted Finch’s car and they both climbed in, silent, and Finch drove back towards the library. After quite a while he pulled off to the right unexpectedly and took a few side streets until he came to a stop in front of an unassuming apartment building. Finch got out so John followed suit, then entered the building with him and watched the elevator numbers go up as it took them to the top floor and let them out. John was wondering if this was another of Finch’s safe houses when Finch opened a door in the hallway and said, “I believe this is what you’ve been looking for, Mr Reese.”

John found his feet glued to the floor next to the elevator. He looked at Finch and felt a blanket of shame drape around himself. In all his time spent following Finch and trying to find out where he lived, he hadn’t actually considered what he’d do once his mission was completed. Riding the elevator up and knocking on Finch’s door and going, “Found you!” would have been petty and in-your-face. Yet here he was, with Finch seemingly admitting defeat and giving away the location to his most private and personal space in a time of pain, and John felt like a coward and a jerk.

“Finch, I….” he began, then stopped, words abandoning him. How could he express his remorse, his regret over his tactlessness and insensitivity when “tact” was usually his middle name?

Finch, still at the door, bit his lower lip while thinking. Then he walked slowly back down the hallway towards Reese, paused in front of him, and took both of John’s hands in his. Finch looked down at their hands, contemplating something, and then started to talk in a quiet, unsteady voice.

“I’m… I’m not very good at this kind of thing, Mr Reese,” he began awkwardly, glancing up quickly at John’s eyes before gazing back down at their joined hands. “I feel like trust has been broken on both sides here today, and I’m not quite sure how we go about fixing that. But,” and he paused and glanced briefly up at John again, “I know what I feel for you, and I want you to know that the choices I’ve made in the past are exactly that – they’re in the past. Grace was… Grace is a wonderful woman, and I cherish the time we spent together. I still worry that her history with me has put her in danger, and that’s why I check up on her. I couldn’t bear it if something was to happen to her because of me, and I need to know she’s okay.”

John squeezed Finch’s hands, not knowing what else to do. Neither man was much for talking and he’d never before heard Finch being so open about his life, and suddenly here it was happening twice in one day. But John’s relief at learning more about Finch’s situation with Grace was still clouded by the fact of where they were currently standing.

Finch continued on, though, seeming like he needed to get things out.

“I brought you here because I want there to be one less secret between us today, John. I’ve never…” he paused, this time fixing his eyes on John’s, “I’ve never brought anyone here before, never trusted someone enough before to –”

John, who knew what this kind of exposition meant for Finch, couldn’t hold himself anymore. He swooped his head down to kiss Finch, the shorter man somewhat startled but not pulling back as their lips met in a short yet meaningful way. John pulled back, struggling to contain the smile that threatened to spill out onto his face and then giving up completely. Finch’s own face broke out in a shy smile as he looked at John, and he let his hands fall to his side.

“I could definitely have handled things differently, Finch,” John admitted, “and thank you for bringing me here. It means the world to me that you did.”

“So,” Finch cocked his head to the side, “Do you want to come inside or are we going to stand out here all day?”

John took that as his cue to kiss Finch again, this time with much more determination. His hands grasped Finch’s shoulders, neck, and face, anywhere they could get purchase as their lips and tongues began a fast, sweet tango and their bodies moved step by step towards the door to Finch’s apartment. Once inside, John had only a few seconds to peripherally register the rich warm tones of Finch’s décor before Finch tugged him through another door and into his bedroom.

Finch broke their contact reluctantly and began working on his own tie before John’s hands closed over his and he breathed quietly into Finch’s ear, “Let me.” John took his time loosening the tie and pondering the bright orange criss-cross stripes before pulling it over Finch’s head and then making short work of his brown suit jacket and sienna waistcoat. He allowed Finch to undo his shirt buttons then returned the favour, and slipped his hands under the open fabric to relish in the feel of the warm skin beneath. His eyes must have closed because he didn’t notice Finch moving in to kiss him again, and when he felt their lips meet a surge of adrenalin rushed through him and he pushed Finch and himself half-clothed towards and onto the bed. Finch quickly moved to push John onto his back and twenty seconds later all their clothes were off and scattered around the room. John pulled Finch down on top of him and let out a quiet gasp as their naked bodies touched, and he felt Finch’s erection pressing unabashedly against his own.

“God, John, this feels so good,” Finch sighed as he laid his head on John’s upper chest, then apparently he had a better idea because lifted his head and body up and started trailing kisses down John’s torso. Finch’s target was clear and John found himself tensing up in nervous anticipation when suddenly Finch let out a low, frustrated, “Ow!”

John bolted upright but Finch pushed him back down and smiled, saying, “It’s nothing, I just need to adjust my position here. My leg hasn’t done this kind of stretching in a while.” Then Finch’s mouth closed over John’s cock and everything faded into oblivion for a few minutes until he reached up to push Finch away with a breathless, “Stop!”

Finch scooted back up the bed and brought his mouth to John’s in a crushing kiss as John’s left hand found his way down Finch’s body and lazily stroked Finch’s erection. After a while he could feel Finch tensing up, so he moved his hand back up slightly and found his hand tracing the light pink scar over Finch’s hip.

Finch broke the kiss with a content sigh, and looked down at John’s fingers over his scar.

“A story for another day, John,” he promised, then, “I think we need a few things.” He reached over to the bedside table and pulled a condom and some lubricant out of the drawer. John cocked an eyebrow at him, and Finch blushed a little as he said, “After kissing you the other day, I figured the Boy Scout motto was a good one to go by.”

John sat up and took the packaged condom from Finch, ripped it open in one smooth move, and carefully rolled it down over Finch’s cock. He looked up at Finch as if to ask if that was okay, and Finch responded by pushing John back down to the bed a second time. He was soon tracing two well-lubricated fingers around John’s anus and then slid them slowly inside, working the opening to help it loosen up. John felt himself growing light-headed again as Finch then lubed himself up and pressed the head of his shaft tentatively into John. It was a bit painful and a lot awkward but finally Finch was fully inside and John felt a more-than-pleasant sensation as Finch began thrusting slowly against his prostate and John’s left hand quickly moved to work his own cock while his right hand came to rest on Finch’s shoulder. At some point their eyes locked together and John could tell Finch was getting close to the edge as he felt his own orgasm threatening to wash over him. Then Finch’s eyes snapped closed, and he pushed hard into John and moaned softly as John closed his eyes too as his own release spilled out of him in a wave of pleasure.

He opened his eyes to find Finch looking down at him with genuinely happy smile on his face. John mirrored it, his heart feeling full and his burdens lightened for once, even if only for a short time.

“Let’s clean up and then I’ll brew you some coffee,” Finch offered, pulling gently out of John and reaching for the box of Kleenex at the side of the bed.

“Coffee, Harold?” John teased, grabbing some tissues for himself.

“Well, like I said earlier,” Finch raised his eyebrows at John suggestively, “I figured it was best to be prepared. And I’d say it’s paid off.”

“So maybe Isaac Newton was right about human objects in motion too?” John mused, smiling across at Finch.

“I think you just made science talk a turn-on, John.”


End file.
